Gypsy (9 page)

The shape was in her line of vision for no more than a second, but she felt certain it was a woman. Yet while she knew thieves could be of either sex, she couldn’t imagine a woman prowling around at this time of night. She stood there for a moment in puzzlement, considering whether she should go and wake Sam. Deciding that was pointless as the intruder had gone and Sam had to be at work early in the morning, she turned to go back to the bedroom.

But as she reached the door she smelled paraffin and heard a whooshing sound.

It could only be fire.

In horror she ran to the top of the stairs and looked down to see flames flickering. It hadn’t been a thief, but someone intent on burning them all alive.

‘Fire!’ she screamed at the top of her voice. ‘Sam! Ernest! Peter! Fire! Get up now!’

Chapter Seven

Scooping Molly out of her cradle, Beth snatched up a blanket and ran along the passage to the parlour where Sam was sleeping.

‘Wake up, Sam!’ she yelled, shaking him. ‘There’s a fire!’

He hadn’t drawn the parlour curtains before going to bed and there was enough light from the street lamps outside for her to see him clearly. He opened his eyes and looked blankly at her for a second, but when she repeated the warning he leapt out of bed, snatched up his trousers and jumped into them.

‘Get Ernest and Peter!’ she shouted, and he was off down the passage like a shot. Smoke was billowing up the stairs now, and Beth knew she had to think of an alternative way to escape.

Shutting the parlour door and putting Molly down on Sam’s bed, she flung up the sash window as wide as it would go and screamed out, hoping a policeman or anyone nearby would hear her. But the street below was deserted, with not so much as a cat prowling around.

The boys came thundering down the stairs and burst into the parlour. ‘How did it start?’ Peter asked, his voice shrill with fright.

‘Never mind that now,’ Ernest said as he leant out of the window. ‘It’s too high to jump from here. Maybe the back windows would be easier?’

‘I’ll go and look,’ Sam said, taking command. ‘You stay here, use the sheets and anything else to make a rope. Beth, carry on screaming for all you’re worth.’

He was gone in a flash, only to return seconds later coughing from the smoke and carrying a pile of bedding. ‘The fire’s got the whole staircase and it’s too dangerous to try to get out of the bedroom window because the flames are right beneath it,’ he gasped. ‘We’ll have to get out this way. Beth, stop up the gap under the door with the rug. Ernie, help me throw the mattress out to soften our landing, then we’ll lower you. Beth and Molly can go after that.’

Beth did as he asked, ramming the rug against the door bottom as tightly as she could. Ernest and Peter had already got two sheets knotted together, and they tugged at it to make sure it was strong enough, yelling for help at the top of their voices as they did so. Beth snatched Molly up again as the boys manhandled the mattress out of the window, then Ernest got out on to the window sill and took the end of the sheet, and with Sam and Peter holding the other end, they gradually lowered him down.

As the boys were busy at the window Beth looked for something secure to put Molly into. Seeing the coal scuttle, she grabbed it and tipped out the coal into the fireplace. Molly was crying now, frightened by all the noise and panic around her, Beth sat her in the scuttle and wedged her in with a pillow.

‘Good girl,’ Sam said approvingly. Ernest was yelling fit to bust down on the street, Peter joining in at the window. Sam quickly tied the sheet rope around the coal-scuttle handle and tested it for strength.

Beth’s heart was in her mouth as she watched Molly’s descent to the street below. Sam and Peter were lowering her very carefully, but the coal scuttle was swaying precariously. If Molly struggled it would tip over to one side.

Fortunately she remained still and reached the safety of Ernest’s arms.

‘Now you, Beth,’ Sam said as he pulled the sheet rope up again. ‘You cling on to the sheet like grim death. I’ll lower you.’

Beth was terrified as she crawled backwards on to the window sill. She had bare feet and was wearing only her nightgown with nothing beneath it. Even in such a desperate situation she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing her private parts.

‘Wind it round your wrist and hold it tightly,’ Sam ordered her. ‘Use your feet to help you down the wall. We’ll let it down gently, we won’t drop you.’

Nothing in her life had been so frightening. She was terrified of plunging down and breaking her neck and all too aware that the breeze had got under her nightgown and that Ernest was looking right up at her. But she had to do it quickly because Sam and Peter needed to get down too.

‘Good girl, only a few more feet and you can jump,’ Ernest called out. ‘The mattress is right below and I’m here to catch you.’

She got a bit hooked up on the signboard along the top of the shop window, but she managed to get beyond it and then Ernest told her to jump.

People were spilling out of their homes now to see what all the noise was about, and the sound reassured her a little. She let go of the sheet and dropped to her feet on the mattress.

Snatching Molly out of Ernest’s arms, she glanced into the shop window and to her further horror saw flames licking all around the door at the back which led to their flat. Smoke was billowing overhead too and more and more people were coming out on to the street. She hoped the fire brigade would get here before the whole terrace of shops burned down.

‘I’ve got a ladder!’ yelled a male voice. ‘Two minutes and I’ll get it to you.’

Sam, meanwhile, was assisting Peter out of the window. ‘How is Sam going to get down?’ Beth asked Ernest. ‘There isn’t anything to tie the sheet to up there.’

‘The ladder might be here by then,’ Ernest said. ‘Come on, Pete,’ he shouted. ‘Mind how you go when you reach the signboard of the shop.’

Peter jumped the last ten feet and turned to Ernest. ‘The fire’s at the door up there now,’ he said. ‘How’s Sam going to get down?’

Beth could see the flames leaping across the shop floor.

Before long the fire would be raging up the front of the building and trapping her brother.

‘Sam!’ Beth yelled. ‘Drag the bed over to the window. The headboard is too big to go through it, so you can tie the sheet to that.’

She felt sick with fright and wished she could see if Sam was obeying her — it would be just like him to try to collect up a few valuables before he left. It was mayhem out in the street now, some people shouting that they should start a chain of buckets of water, others panicking that their homes might be at risk, barefooted children in their nightclothes crying because they couldn’t see their parents. A few people were blowing whistles and more were banging on other doors in an attempt to get the occupants out.

But just as Beth was beginning to think Sam was lost to her, the sheet came spilling out of the window and he was outside on the sill, bare-chested, the street light shining on his blond hair, her fiddle case in his hand.

‘Catch this,’ he yelled, and tossed it down into Peter’s hands. Just as the flames behind the shop window began to crack the glass, Sam came down the sheet hand over hand.

Beth ran to hug him. ‘What made you think of rescuing the fiddle?’ she asked.

‘Something told me I must.’ He shrugged. ‘I know how much it means to you.’

It was some fifteen minutes later that the first fire engine arrived, the firemen leaping off and fastening the hose to the water supply, but by then the front of the building was ablaze. The horses were taken out of the shafts and led further down the street away from the fierce heat, and Beth and the boys huddled together on the other side of the street, watching the scene in horror.

It was then that Beth realized they had lost everything. Their home, their clothes, their money. All gone.

They were destitute and homeless.

Their landlord and Mr Filbert, the tenant in the shop, would have insurance, but they had none. Sam hadn’t even got a suit of clothing to put on to go to work in the morning. As for Molly, she had just a nightgown, a napkin and a blanket.

Beth shivered with fear, not the cold. Someone put a blanket around her shoulders and she heard them asking if they had someone they could go to. Tears came then, scalding hot tears that splashed down her cheeks on to Molly, who had fallen asleep in her arms.

Two more fire engines arrived, one going to the back of the building, but the fire was still raging and it looked as if the ironmonger’s on one side and the haberdasher’s on the other would go up too. Policemen were trying to get the huge crowd to move right back well out of the way.

‘How did it start?’ someone shouted.

‘Someone set it purposely,’ Beth called back. ‘I saw them running out the back gate. They put paraffin through the letterbox, they wanted to kill us all.’

One of the policemen came over to her and asked her to repeat what he’d just heard her say. ‘Have you any idea who it could have been?’ he asked.

‘Try looking for Jane Wiley.’ She spat out the name. ‘She used to be our lodger.’

Mrs Craven suddenly appeared through the crowd with her husband beside her. ‘I’m here, lovey,’ she called. ‘We won’t see you and Sam homeless after all you’ve been through.’ She pushed her way over to Beth and opened her big arms to encircle her and Molly. ‘You come with us now.’

Barefoot, with only a cotton nightgown and her fiddle to her name, and Molly in her arms, Beth walked with the Cravens to their home, leaving Sam to follow once he’d found someone who could take in Ernest and Peter. The Cravens’ two small rooms had been the haven Beth had run to many times in the past months when she had a problem, or just needed someone older and wiser to talk to. But she was very aware that it could only be the most temporary refuge now, for her neighbours were too old to have the disruption of unexpected guests, and too poor to have to feed them.

Beth couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t just the hiss of water jets playing on the fire, or firemen shouting to one another less than forty yards away across the back alley. It wasn’t even the hard floor of Mrs Craven’s living room, or the smoke-laden air that kept her awake. It was the knowledge that Jane Wiley had started the fire viciously and wantonly.

She didn’t know how anyone could be that wicked, for even if she hadn’t actually intended to kill them, she must have set out to destroy their home.

Everything gone — clothes, furniture and money — but even worse, to Beth, was the loss of all the little personal things and family photographs, mementos of her parents and grandparents which could never be replaced. She was touched that Sam had thought to rescue her fiddle, but it seemed such a frivolous item to save.

Practical as ever, Mrs Craven had found a couple of napkins and a baby gown for Molly and made an impromptu cradle for her out of a drawer. She’d said that the Salvation Army helped people in their position by giving clothes and boots, and she had no doubt the neighbours would make a collection for them too. But Beth was too demoralized to find any comfort in that.

‘It’s the best we can do for now,’ Mr Craven said as he handed Sam a shirt, jacket and boots belonging to a neighbour the following morning.

Sam put them on gratefully, but their owner was clearly a great deal bigger than Sam and they made him look like a clown.

‘At least I’ve got my own trousers still,’ Sam remarked. ‘I won’t have to worry about them falling down round my ankles.’

‘They’ll understand at your work,’ Beth said, sensing he was anxious about what the office manager was going to say about his appearance. She went over to him and straightened the shirt collar.

‘Don’t worry, Beth,’ he said. ‘On the way home tonight I’ll go and see the Salvation Army and see if they’ve got some things I can have.’

Beth was still in her soot-blackened nightgown, but Mrs Craven had gone round to her daughter’s to see if she had some clothes to lend. It had brought Beth up sharply to discover that most other people had just two sets of clothes, one for everyday and one for best. She’d been fortunate to have five or six dresses and it had never occurred to her that this was unusual.

The fire was completely out now. Mr Craven had been to inspect and said the entire staircase had caved in, the windows had exploded, and the frames and interior doors had all burnt out along with the furniture. The shop below was completely gutted too. Mr Filbert hadn’t arrived yet, but when he did he was going to have a tremendous shock.

Mrs Craven arrived back from her daughter’s soon after Sam left for work. ‘This is really shabby,’ she said, pulling a very worn and faded green dress out of her bag. ‘It’s the only thing my Cathy could spare, but it should fit you. There’s these boots too.’

Beth looked down at the boots and saw the upper on the right one had partially come away from the sole; they were also two sizes too big for her. But at least she had something to put on.

‘I was supposed to go to Falkner Square today,’ she said. ‘Should I still go?’

‘Of course you should, you can’t afford to lose that job now,’ Mrs Craven said a little sharply, as if she’d already begun to regret taking Beth and Sam in. ‘Now, take a bowl of water in the other room and have a good wash. You’ve still got soot smuts on your face.’

By the time Beth got to Falkner Square she had a blister on her foot from the overlarge boots.

‘Beth!’ Mrs Bruce exclaimed as she came limping into the kitchen. ‘What on earth has happened to you?’

As Beth told the story she began to cry. Mrs Bruce made her sit down and gave her a cup of tea and her undivided attention.

‘So that’s why I look the way I do,’ Beth finished up, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t know where we’re going to live or how we’ll manage. We had such a lovely time yesterday at New Brighton, I really thought we’d turned a corner and everything was going to be better.’

Mrs Bruce gave her a pat on the shoulder. ‘I am so sorry, my dear, it must have been a terrible shock to you. But for now I suggest you take those horrible boots off or the blister will just get worse. You get on with the laundry and I’ll talk to you later.’